Two Days
by forensicsgirl
Summary: Gil Grissom, the infamous workaholic, has a new addiction… OneShot. GSR.


**Title: Two Days**

**Pairing: GSR**

**Rating: PG-13 (T)**

**Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing them for a little while so that they can have a little more fun than they get to have on the actual show. If that's a crime then sue me. No! I didn't mean that! Please don't sue me, Mr Bruckheimer, Sir!**

* * *

Her laughter was like warm cherry pie, slipping down his throat and into his belly; at once sating his appetite and leaving him hungry for more.

He casually glanced into the break room on his way past, curious as to the source of her mirth. Laughter bubbled forth again, her amusement the result of something Nick or Greg had said – he didn't notice which. All he could hear were the dulcet tones of her laughter, pealing off the walls, searing into his soul.

She was a siren to him, a smoky-eyed goddess of desire that at once confused and made everything so very clear. She was the temptation he would not allow himself to have, the ambrosia fit only for the gods, not for a pathetic mortal like himself.

Until the day he relented, allowed himself to taste her nectar. And nothing had been the same again.

Love and passion were something his analytical mind had understood from afar, not experience first-hand. He didn't realize how utterly complicated and completely simple they made everything. He experienced them as he would one of his experiments – immersing himself fully, devoting every ounce of his attention, to the detriment of everything else.

Sleeping and eating no long seemed important. He would arrive at the lab, his eyes darkly ringed and vague, and somnambulate through his working hours until he could return home and be alone with her.

She lived under a veil of blissful ignorance for weeks, perhaps months; like him, living for their moments together. Until the night she found him in his office, staring off into space.

She had entered as she knocked on the door frame, eyes fixed on the report in front of her, addressing him as she walked.

"Griss, the trace results have come back on the Johnson case," she announced.

When he elicited no reply, she looked up. Eyes fixed and glazed over; she was tempted to believe he was actually asleep with his eyes open.

"Grissom?"

No reply.

"Griss?"

He didn't even blink.

"Gil!"

His head snapped around, eyes blinking furiously as though trying rid themselves of sand.

"Sara? How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," she replied, concerned. "Where were you?"

"Hmm?" he replied, shuffling papers on his desk aimlessly, trying to look productive. "I've been here. Uh… working."

"Working?"

A nod.

"On?"

A blank stare.

She looked nervously back over her shoulder at the bustling lab and crossed the room again to shut the door. Bemused, Grissom watched as she returned and sat down opposite him.

"What's going on?" she asked seriously. "Cath was complaining to me the other day that you left her alone with the experiment you were both doing with that fetal pig. That's not like you."

He shrugged. "I had paperwork to…"

She cut him off. "You haven't been focusing like you used to at scenes. Everyone's been commenting on it. The Doc asked me if you were sick yesterday. He says you've haven't sat in on an autopsy in nearly two weeks."

"Well, I've been busy, and…"

"To think I was worried about work coming between us." There was no shortage of irony in her tone. "I never dreamed it would be the other way around."

He looked blank. Then he tried to look nonchalant. Finally, he chuckled and brushed it off. "Our relationship is not interfering with my job, Sara."

One eyebrow arched. "Really? What case are you working on?"

"Uh…" He really thought about it. "The Brinkman case? Double homicide."

"Good guess, Bugman." She rolled her eyes. "We closed that three days ago."

She was clearly being irrational, he thought. Their relationship wasn't distracting him at all. _As his eyes traced the contours of her body, he wondered if she had on the black lace bra or the soft pink with the butterflies he liked so much…_

"Grissom!" Her voice broke through his reverie. "You're zoning out again."

"Sorry." He looked sheepish. Then he grinned mischievously. "What color bra are you wearing today?"

Her cheeks flushed, but she shook it off, her determination outweighing her embarrassment.

"That's it, buster. I'm cutting you off."

He winced. "Excuse me?"

"We've been spending too much time together. We've been involved for, what? Not even three months. And aside for the first two weeks or so of dating, have we actually spent a single day away from each other?"

"Well, there was that one night you went out of town on a case…"

"Grissom!" she cut in again, her frustration clearly growing by the moment. "This isn't healthy. We're both workaholic, anti-social, extremely private people. Now we're permanently joined at the hip. We're losing our balance."

He was confused. "Our balance?"

A nod. "We need to find some kind of balance between our work and our private lives. Which clearly isn't going to be easy, since neither of us have ever been remotely balanced in the past. Only now, the pendulum has swung entirely the other way."

He sighed. "I suppose it has. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, is it? I mean, I thought this is what you wanted." He looked uncertain, suddenly. Worried, perhaps, that she'd changed her mind about him after all.

"It is what I want, babe. But I want it all. The wonderfully rewarding career _and_ the geeky yet incredibly sexy lover. But right now, we seem to be focusing on one to the detriment of the other."

He rose from his chair and circled the desk. He reached down and caressed her long neck, tracing her arms with his fingertips, before capturing her hands in his own and pulling her out of the chair and into his arms.

"Did you lock the door?" he breathed into her hair.

Her body was locked in a battle with itself; half of her wanting to melt into him right here and now, to let him swipe away the endless paperwork and take her right there on his desk. The other half, the one screaming into the ear Grissom wasn't busy nibbling on, was telling her that this wasn't the time or the place to be getting down and dirty with the boss.

"Grissssssssssss," she moaned as his teeth teased at the most sensitive part of her neck. She could feel her pulse building, her breathing become more shallow. God, the things he could do to her…

She felt his hand skirt up her back, underneath her shirt, tracing the contours of her spine. He released her neck, his hungry lips finding her feverish ones, devouring her, leaving her more breathless than before.

The hand on her back slid round to her stomach and meandered its way upwards. When she felt it cup her breast, his thumb press against one hardened nipple, she pulled away.

"We are _so _not doing this here."

She was panting and flushed, and fine line of sweat beading her brow. He just looked smug.

"God but you're beautiful," he told her, completely unaffected by the fact that they were at work with only a thin layer of glass and blinds separating them from the rest of the world.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she asked him.

He smirked and moved towards her again. She put one hand to his chest, fending him off.

"That's it. This morning, after shift, I'm going home. _Alone_."

She could literally hear his jaw hit the floor.

"What?"

"Griss, I haven't slept properly in _three months_. I know how everyone likes to joke about me being the woman that never sleeps, but I do. I _need to sleep_." She was becoming faintly hysterical. "_Especially_ given the additional… _activities_ we've been engaged in lately. And three or four hours of unconsciousness after hours spent making love, talking and generally worshipping each other just isn't getting it done for me anymore."

He would have argued, but his own dark circles and exhaustion shut him up.

"And you look like you need a week in bed, at the very least."

The devil got into him again. "That's an offer I can't refuse…"

"Jesus, Gil!" she snapped, exasperated. "We're taking two days off. Sleeping _alone_, in our _own beds_."

"Two nights?" he whimpered, and she nodded.

"And from now on, we spend our days off together, and no more than one or two days per week when we're working. That's it."

He was utterly flummoxed. "That's… impossible."

"Grissom, we spent just about every day of our lives alone before we got together. I think we can cope."

He reached up and took the hand that was pushing him back. Tenderly, he stroked the soft skin and brought it up to his lips. "I just… I love being with you."

She softened. "I love being with you too. But… don't you ever… worry?"

He frowned, not knowing what she meant. "Worry about what?"

She sighed. "That it's all… too much, too soon? That we're so hot and heavy now that we'll… burn out?"

She had totally lost him. "What are you talking about?"

Her eyes, dark and damp, met his. "Thermite."

Confusion. Then recognition. "Sara, I wasn't talking about us."

She impatiently swept away a rogue tear. "I know. But… it got me thinking. I don't want this to be some wild fling that burns itself out in a couple of month."

He let go of her hand and cradled her face in both of his. "Honey, it won't be."

She closed her eyes and absorbed the reassurance his hands offered her. They were like finely tuned instruments, she found herself thinking, fit for many purposes. As skillfully as they could collect evidence or dust for prints, they could also salve her broken soul, show her endless tenderness and love, and bring her body to the very heights of desire.

"Can we just… slow down? A little? Until we get the balance right?"

He nodded and kissed her forehead. "Anything you want."

And that was why he stood outside the break room, his insides aching for her. _Two days_.

He had done as she had asked; left her alone to go out for breakfast after work with Nick and Greg, before going home to her own apartment to sleep without him. He in his turn had taken Catherine out for a meal on the first day of their abstinence. On the second, he sat in Brass's office for a glass of Scotch. Both days he returned to his townhouse, one part of him frustrated and lonely; the other secretly glad of the chance to get some rest.

He drank the sight of her in now, knowing that in only a few short but agonizing hours, he could take her home. He noted that she looked rested. With a clearer head, he now felt bad that his overzealous approach to their relationship had brought them both to the brink of exhaustion.

She sensed him watching her and looked across the room, meeting his gaze. A languid smile spread on her face and he felt his desire stir once again. Returning her smile, he finally forced himself away and back to his office.

Three hours later, she was at his door.

"Hey." Her long body perched itself against his door frame and he couldn't help but trace those long lines with his eyes. "Ready to go?"

Tearing his eyes away, he regarded his desk. "Hmm, maybe later. I still have a lot of paperwork to do and with tomorrow being my day off…"

"Grissom!"

He smirked, enjoying her frustration. Clearly, the two days apart had been just as hard on her.

Relenting, he winked at her. "Coming dear."

He gathered his briefcase and jacket and joined her at the door.

"I hope you're well rested," her meaning dripping off her words like honey, as she made her way to the exit with him. "How were your two days off?"

He rested his hand on her lower back as he guided her out of the building, sliding it a little lower than normal, enough to make her shudder with anticipation.

"Longest two days of my life."

**The End.**


End file.
